


Dark Mirrors

by theprimrosepath



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Background Trent Ikithon, Caleb Widogast's Backstory, Episode 110 Speculation, Gen, Jealousy, Jester Lavorre & Caleb Widogast Friendship, Past Astrid/Caleb Widogast, implied one-sided pining (on caleb's part for jester), inb4 the stream of 110 tonight josses this to heck, jester's own feelings are ambiguous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:41:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26518387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theprimrosepath/pseuds/theprimrosepath
Summary: During the dinner at Trent Ikithon's manor, Jester and Astrid manage to have a private conversation.
Relationships: Astrid & Caleb Widogast, Astrid & Jester Lavorre, Jester Lavorre & Caleb Widogast
Comments: 8
Kudos: 64





	Dark Mirrors

Gods, where did Caleb go?

Jester exhales a frustrated huff as she opens her third set of doors and finds a balcony with no thin, slumped wizard in a long purple coat. The manor isn't huge, but she should've known Caleb would disappear in its halls much more skillfully than someone like her could find him. He's actually been here before, after all. For a moment, she mourns her lack of foresight this morning. That _Locate Object_ spell would solve her dilemma lickity-split.

The sound of soft footsteps behind her sends Jester spinning on a heel to look—hopefully it's Caleb—

Her nose wrinkles. It's not.

Astrid comes to a stop a couple paces in front of her, looking all handsome in her dark suit and sleek, short haircut.

Caleb gave her a _look_ when they first arrived, and the forlorn longing in it made her teeth grind. That she returned a similar expression for the briefest second, until she wiped it clean with a polite nod as Trent Ikithon appeared from behind her... The grinding intensified.

Now, Jester smiles at Astrid and does her best to make it _just_ a shade too sharp. "Hi there."

"Miss Lavorre," Astrid replies, unfazed and _ugh_ , no wonder Caleb loves her. This entire night she's been nothing but graceful, despite the sly glint in her eyes so familiar that Jester thought she'd break the oops-stone in her pocket from gripping it so hard. Astrid could probably talk circles around her _dad_.

In her irritation, Jester almost misses the rest of what she says. "I am sorry for the intrusion, but for your benefit, you should not wander too much."

"Mr. Ikithon sent you to make sure I don't see anything bad?" she asks nastily.

"I took it upon myself."

"Gee, thanks."

Astrid smiles then, crooked so it's as piercing as glass at one corner, and Jester almost has whiplash from how violently it reminds her of Caleb. "Bren will be fine, you know. He's dealt with far worse."

Trent _Icky-thong_ 's insidious little smirk resurfaces in her mind—along with his words, not five minutes ago—

The bile in her throat burns. " _Caleb_."

Astrid's gaze seems to settle in order to eye her, and Jester raises her chin a fraction.

"Caleb," the woman finally acknowledges.

The tiniest victory sings bitterly in Jester's gut as she swings the set of doors open again. "I seriously need some fresh air."

She expects Astrid to follow her out onto the balcony, but it surprises her when she braces her arms against the railing to best let the cool summer night ruffle her hair and the other woman echoes the posture right next to her.

Resolutely, Jester stares forward. "Is he watching us right now?"

There's a very satisfying second of Astrid taken aback before she barks a laugh. "No. He is a poor host at the best of times, as I'm sure you have observed. To scry simultaneously is a challenge he cannot succeed at. Besides—"

She reaches within the collar of her shirt and pulls out an amulet. The familiar metal design glints in the torchlight.

"Oh, right. I forgot you had those."

Astrid tucks the amulet back beneath her clothes. "Master Ikithon has no interest in surveilling you."

Jester snorts at how blatant a lie that is. "He invited us to dinner with a creepy letter only a few hours after we got in town."

"He has no interest in surveilling _you_. Caleb"—she says his name with deliberation, like an offered olive branch, and Jester wants to slap it out of her metaphorical hand—"is another matter."

Her nose is back to scrunched up. "He's not going to be a Scourger again."

Instead of an argument, though, what Jester receives in reply is a long and considering sigh. "No. He shouldn't be."

Jester slowly turns to stare at her.

Astrid meets her astonished gaze with steady resolve. Before she can do more than open her mouth, hunting for some kind of response, the other woman smiles Caleb's smile again. "What," she asks, "did you think I have no mind of my own?"

No—well—

...Kind of.

She seems to read that answer in whatever passes across Jester's face and turns away to lean further on the balcony railing, hair falling to conceal most of her face. Her voice softens as she continues, "Master Ikithon anticipates many things to happen in his favor. After decades of success, he's used to it. But in this case, I believe and hope he will fail. B—Caleb will not do well if he returns to the fold."

"At the job?" Jester says scornfully.

"At all."

Jester feels her frown deepen as the dislike in her mouth sours further. She doesn't have Caduceus's sixth sense for these things, but she _knows_ she's good at telling if someone is genuine. Nothing Astrid's said has felt anything but honest.

So what is that supposed to mean?

The other woman says to the night air, "You don't trust me."

Wisely not a question. "Nope."

They sit on that acknowledgement in silence for a moment. Jester watches Astrid watch the streets in front of Ikithon's manor. It's a pretty view, the wealth of the Shimmer Ward illuminating each well-laid stone in warm, enchanted torchlight. Too bad she knows what kind of horrors put this fancy house by these fancy streets.

Somewhere nearby, a crow squawks in solitude. Caleb sent out Frumpkin as one before the dinner to snoop around, and apparently the bird is still flying about the grounds.

Caleb is wandering Trent's manor alone—without even Frumpkin.

Before Jester can think up some reason to keep searching, Astrid breaks the silence. "You have truth spells, don't you?"

She does, in fact. She prepared _Zone of Truth_ this morning.

"You may cast it on me, if you'd like. I will not resist."

Jester doesn't hesitate for longer than a breath—she wants it done before Astrid can change her mind. She raises her hand with the Traveler's symbol around her wrist, and it glows as she gestures in the air between them and mutters the brief chant Artagan taught her what feels like a long time ago.

The spell settles about the balcony like a gentle, gossamer curtain. True to her word, it snags onto Astrid with ease. She must feel it grasp her mind, too, but she doesn't flinch.

Jester lowers her hand. "Why are you doing this?"

The other woman laughs again, and the face that turns to look at her is wryly amused. "Casting before you ask why. Fair enough. I want you to know that Master Ikithon's agenda is not mine, that perhaps we can have a less fraught conversation."

"And what do you want with Caleb?"

This, Astrid gives a considering pause. Jester eyes her, prepared for the opaque answer she must be creating.

"I want many things with Caleb," she finally says. "But most of those desires are... not useful. I want him to find some peace."

"And not, like, 'six feet underground' peace."

Astrid's grimace is more reassuring than her, "No."

Jester leans against the balcony railing hip-first. Crosses her arms and chews up her bottom lip like a lump of saltwater taffy from Nicodranas.

No, she doesn't want to trust Astrid. She shouldn't, anyway, and she _won't_ —but she's definitely not lying right now. And there's more to her words, to her _everything_ than just an enchantment to speak no lie in the last ten seconds, which Jester has to acknowledge in spite of every angry and jealous twist of her gut that wants to ignore it.

Astrid's concern for Caleb is no lie. Jester doesn't need a straight answer to know. She still cares for him... a lot.

Damn it. She can't rightfully hate Astrid, knowing that.

(If she's really, _really_ honest, the effort was selfish from the start. Caleb called her Astrid when he was drunk in her arms. Once upon a time, he thought Astrid was 'the one.' She can't hate someone that Caleb loves.)

"What do _you_ want with him, Miss Lavorre?"

Jester startles, then frowns at her with a bit of aggression. "Hey, which one of us is the less trustworthy one here?"

"I don't know." There's a flash of hardness in Astrid's voice. "I know very little about you or the rest of his new companions."

Deep breath. Jester bites back the instinctive snappish retort and forces some compassion. Putting herself in Astrid's mind—well, she knows how protective and angry _she_ feels over Caleb. Now Astrid, who he loved and who must have loved him, has to see him again after almost two decades both healthy and with a new group of best friends...

For the first time tonight, a little bit of shame burns hot in Jester. How proud she's been about her dislike this entire time, while Astrid has held her tongue—

"And Trent Ikithon really didn't put you up to this?" she asks.

She sees the bitterness in Astrid's gaze as a mirror of her own, now. "He has no idea."

Jester inhales and tries to push down a sudden swell of emotion she can't unpack right now. "I just want Caleb to be happy. And this place makes him miserable."

Astrid nods. She looks out to the street again, and something in her expression locks down.

Jester tenses as—

"How much has Caleb told you about why we killed our parents?" Astrid asks.

Gods. Trent Ikithon's revolting self-satisfaction as he spoke over that ugly, gaudy dinner table. How he pulled away every cover Caleb holds onto with a death grip, and bared his raw wounds for all of them to see. Jester loves the art of manipulation, its mastery by her one childhood best friend—and that love only made it more horrible to see the glee Trent Ikithon takes in using pain and fear as tools.

And Caleb excused himself, hands clenched white and shaking on the edges of his seat. He didn't spare anyone a glance as he left. _Fled_. And Jester doesn't know where he is.

She swallows. "Not really anything. Not to me."

There is no way she'd have missed the pure outrage on Veth's face, no shock to be seen, or the grim loathing like stone that made Beau turn to Ikithon and say, _Excuse me?_ with a voice as cold as Gelidon's breath. How Fjord didn't flinch and immediately looked toward Caleb with only sympathetic dismay.

It's his right to choose who to confide in. But a small voice of hurt in Jester is still upset. He never said anything to her. Even though she told him he could talk to her—even though he whispered, _Okay_ , like it meant the world to him that she offered—

She hopes desperately that Astrid can't hear all of the unsorted mess behind her words.

"It was our graduation exam. To prove our dedication to keeping the Empire strong." Astrid's voice is soft and deliberate. "Our parents were plotting treason, or so we believed, and not even love could stop us from removing them like a diseased branch. Only after could we be honored for our devotion with the real work.

"He..." Her words trail into a chuckle, and Jester winces at its lack of humor. "Wulf and I had thought Bren's resolve the strongest of us three. But his limit surprised us all. I want him to have some peace, Miss Lavorre, because his wild screaming that night broke my heart. Seeing his smiles, his brilliance, smothered by madness and pain..."

Astrid's knuckles are white with the strain of her grip on the balcony railing. Jester lets herself imagine, like she did during their visit to the Vergessen Sanatorium, Caleb in one of those rooms, and shudders.

...She really can't hate her, can she?

"I am not so blindly proud of my vocation as some of my other colleagues," Astrid finally says. Her voice is oh-so-slightly rough. "We do important, necessary work for the Empire, yes. But it is a road of sacrifice and misery. Sometimes collateral damage. Some of us can bear that burden for our people without breaking. Bren—Caleb—could not. There is no shame in that. And I have no wish to see him break again."

Jester bites her lip. "And there's no chance you wouldn't be interested in, I don't know, throwing Trent off his own tower?"

Astrid laughs and smiles that crooked Caleb smile at her. "I'm afraid that wouldn't faze him."

"Yeah, I know, he could probably just turn into a bird or cast _Fly_ or whatever." Jester studies Astrid, her slight frame still sharp as a knife in that dark suit despite the slightest twist of vulnerability in her posture. For the first time, she notices the odd burn scars on the woman's neck—though she puts aside the series of realizations for later once she spots the vague imprint of a hand. Not an image she wants to dwell on right now. "For real, though. Would you?"

There's a sigh and a firm frown.

"...You wouldn't," Jester says, accusatory. And she means it, with no lens of guilt-ridden envy to cloud her judgment anymore.

Astrid's expression is calm and stalwart. "I don't need to. Not when the Matron will come for him herself, sooner rather than later."

Jester shakes her head.

No, she doesn't hate Astrid. She doesn't even really think she's all that bad a person, if she's honest. But a profound sense of disappointment swells inside her as something Caleb has implied before slots right into place—sometimes it doesn't mean anything for there to be decent people who care. Not when they won't _change_ anything.

"The way Caleb feels about you guys, the Scourgers," she says softly, "it's always confused me before. He feels sad for you all, you know. He pities you. I think I get why now."

A caw pierces the air again, much nearer this time. With a soft flutter, a perfectly normal-looking crow lands on Jester's side of the balcony railing. It shakes its feathers back to smoothness and tilts its head, one visible dark eye focused on her.

 _Oh._ Jester reaches out a hand, throat tight.

The crow squawks and shuffles closer a few inches until there's a sudden flutter of black feathers again, and small bird claws dig into the fabric covering Jester's shoulder.

A tiny giggle escapes her as she raises her hand again to scritch the crow's beak. Its eyes go halfway shut in bliss.

Wait, shitballs, Astrid. Jester looks over to see the woman studying her and the bird and shifts so her angle for viewing Frumpkin—and possibly piecing together the extent of why he's so friendly—is way worse.

She raises an eyebrow but apparently lets it go, because she says, "Take care with Caleb. I'm not sure if you've noticed..."

"Noticed what?"

Astrid seems to gauge her utter confusion, but she conceals her reaction before Jester can try to figure out what she's talking about. "So you haven't. Perhaps ask him about those looks he gives you then." She spares Frumpkin another interested glance before dipping her head. "A reminder, don't snoop for your own sake. When you find Caleb, bring him back to the dining hall."

"Hey, Astrid?"

She stops in the middle of turning to leave and looks back.

"Um... If it means anything to you, I'm sorry," Jester says quietly. "That everything is so different. And that whoever tailored your outfit is really bad at making butts look good."

The crooked Caleb smile appears one last time, and it really does manage to soften her scarred, severe face into something almost like a friend. Jester wonders whose smile it was first. "I appreciate the sentiment. It reassures me that Caleb's new friends are not just fairweather companions. I hope to see you both shortly."

Jester scritches Frumpkin on the top of his head as she departs, enjoying the tickle of soft feathers.

Alright, now to figure out why the familiar came to her. She glances out the corner of her eye at Frumpkin as if she might be able to spot Caleb, somehow, if he's watching through the bird's eyes, then begins to cast _Sending_. "Caleb, where are you..."

**Author's Note:**

> broke: jester and astrid hate each other  
> woke: jester realizes that astrid does genuinely care for caleb's wellbeing instead of blindly following trent's shenanigans and therefore can't, in good faith, truly hate her; astrid feels similarly
> 
> and, look. i know i'm a jester/caleb shipper but i have many boats. someone please validate my realization while writing this that jester would 100% be into astrid, and the fact that there is no astrid/jester tag is a travesty.
> 
> find me at [@primrose-path-of-dalliance](https://primrose-path-of-dalliance.tumblr.com) on tumblr, where i post fandom things and the occasional bit of writing.
> 
> (POST 110 EDIT: i won you guys. i won critical role)


End file.
